Right before him stretched a wooden bridge, its planks creaking like weary bones, held aloft by ropes clinging desperately to the sides of the mountain. The road was narrow, unstable, a trembling thread over the abyss.
Beyond it lay a plain of scorched earth, leading into a forest where trees stood stripped of life, nothing but skeletal husks clawing at the sky, as though haunted by some ancient curse.
Simma urged his horse forward, galloping across the trembling bridge until they reached the charred woodland. Through the thin lattice of barren branches, he caught glimpses of other recruits, some to his left, some to his right, each no more than a blur, perhaps ninety feet away.
There, through the blur haze of speeding with his horse, he saw Sarah.
"No way…" Simma muttered under his breath. She had made it this far too.
Sarah turned her head toward him, offering a brief smile, but it faltered almost instantly as her hand shot up, pointing frantically to the other side.
Simma quickly turned. What he saw made him draw a thick, unwanted fast breath. He couldn't see the face of the person, but whoever it was aimed his bow at him instead of the next target that might appear. The person had also made it this far without falling off his horse or missing a target.
But that wasn't the point, right? For he shot at Simma. His arrow, though, wasn't the normal blue, glassy glimmer that normally formed at the bow. It was crimson at the shaft and gothic black at the pointed edge, smoking terribly.
The arrow loosed.
But it wasn't aimed for Simma. It streaked toward his horse.
Instinct seized him.
With a desperate tug on the reins, Simma yanked his mount sideways. The horse neighed in agony, rearing high into the air as the cursed arrow hissed beneath it and slammed into a nearby tree. The tree withered instantly, dissolving into dust that scattered like ash in the wind.
Horror lanced through Simma's chest. Was that what would have happened to him if he hadn't worked smart by pulling off that trick amidst his speed, the trick which now slowed him down?
If there was a way to alert the sentinels about this, he would very much appreciate it, since now he was sure that the tournament had been tampered with.
If not why hadn't their ES warned them about assassins that would want to shoot them down.
He dug his heels into the horse's flanks, urging it forward with renewed urgency. Rage swelled within him, feeding the fire of his bow. When the ninth target shimmered into view, Simma shot it down with a force sharpened by fury.
And there it was at the other side of the horizon…. a vertical rectangular frame bearing the final target as the door.
It towered ahead, crooked and ancient, its frame appearing half-rotted, as though scarred by the same fate that had reduced the trees to lifeless husks. Black-and-white energy pulsed through its corners, swirling like a storm contained within its wooden bones.
The door's access was the last circular target, which stood at its middle, waiting to be served with an arrow.
But there was something else, an end to the land on which they would gallop through.
between Simma and the portal stretched only empty air, no bridge, no path, only a gaping chasm yawning like the mouth of some titan beast.
Immediately Simma saw this, he tugged on his horse. He needed enough speed if his horse was to make that jump.
"Yaaa!"
The horse increased its speed, Simma's hair now flailing hard behind him as though it wanted to tear out of his head.
But even as Simma prepared for the leap, his heart lurched. The masked figure had already vaulted across the void, horse soaring in midair. From that vantage, the figure loosed another arrow.
This time, Simma saw it too late.
The arrow shrieked toward him.
But in the nick of time, he threw up his legs to the back of his horse, standing on it in a crouched position, his legs on the back and his hands still on the lasso.
The horse was just 7 feet away from the bridgeless space which they were about to jump when the arrow struck the side of her belly.
The horse neighed as its front limbs collapsed to the floor at once.
And being calculative enough, Simma leapt off the horse's back, propelled also by the force at which the front limb of the horse crashed to the floor. Its neighing could not be heard, since it turned into dust. That was the impact of the arrow whenever it braced any living thing. And Simma knew that by now.
He twisted through the air, bow in hand, drawing an arrow of his own.
Which he pointed at the masked man, but not for his life, rather for self defence since the man had shot another arrow at him.
Time slowed, each heartbeat a thunderclap. He aimed with deep precision before he shot, as his arrow collided with the enemy's, deflecting it harmlessly away. Sparks of energy scattered across the void like broken stars.
whoever the recruit was, he was so good at shooting. But why did he want him to fail? Not only that. Why did he want him dead? Because judging from the arrow he just shot at him, he wanted him dead.
Meanwhile. His countershot just as calculated continued on, grazing the masked recruit's face.
The mask tore away, fluttering down into the abyssal chasm below.
And for that brief moment, Simma saw his face. His eyes widened,it was..
"Draco."
No time to linger, he was still midair, his momentum dragging him toward the chasm's edge.
Air whooshing through his face, pressing his cloths to his body.
Spinning through the air with a gymnast's grace, Simma loosed one final arrow. It struck true, piercing the glowing sigil at the heart of the portal. The door shuddered, its mist spiraling into a furious cyclone.
He flung out his hand, catching the rail of the portal's frame. And with a surge of strength, he swung himself downwards through the door, swinging beneath the threshold. The force threw him upwards as he back flipped before landing with feline precision on one knee, head bowed, and hand pressed to the earth
Just then, his echelon seal blossomed through his ear:
‐--------------------------------------
[Second target shot: 100%]
[Third target shot: 100%]
[Fourth target shot: 100%]
[Fifth target shot: 100%]
[Sixth target shot: 100%]
[Seventh target shot: 100%]
[Eighth target shot: 100%]
[Ninth target shot: 50%]
[Tenth target shot: 100%]
[You have successfully passed the first tournament]
---------------------------------
Simma quickly looked around to know if any other arrows were coming for him.
Breathless, he raised his head. No arrows came. No enemies lurked. Just silence.
He had passed the first trial.
But the thought that chilled him more than the cursed arrows was the truth his eyes had revealed: Draco. Not only alive, not only skilled, but dangerous and eadly. And for some reason, he was intent on killing him.
Simma clenched his jaw. Something was wrong. The Sentinels had promised each recruit their own path, yet here was Draco, crossing his, arrows dripping with corruption.
And as Simma lifted his gaze to the new landscape, his doubts only deepened.
For the place before him was unlike anything he had expected. Its very entrance bore words carved in flame, glowing with a power that made his mouth fall open in awe.